


Golden Birds

by LadyBraken



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Marriage, Liberal use of dragons, Post-The Battle of the Blackwater, Power Imbalance, War, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-03-17 19:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18971536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: Sansa Stark was just a little bird prisonner of her ennemies, until she put her hand on a knife. She is a Stark, a wolf, and men always respect Killers. Otherwise they wouldn't respect themselves.Tywin Lannister was one of the hardest men in the country. The most powerful. The one that held gold, armies, trones. A man of duty. Until Sansa Stark put her hands on a knife.It isn't the strom that makes the Ocean dangerous.---Or where Tywin found a bloodied Sansa in the Hand's tower after the Battle of Blackwater, and took her under his wing. Not by chivalry, mind you.





	1. GreenFire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my first Tywin/ Sansa (I wanted ot write one for sooo long). Sansa is aged-up to seventeen at the beginning of the fic. It will be highly political fic, but not one where Sansa will become Tywin's wife. I will use a mix between the show and the book canon, but the time-line will be book-centered. (my physical description of Tywin is the one of the show, because, hell yeah).

SANSA

  
  


The fire burned Green. 

 

He had left her with a kiss. She was alone, with an old, bloodied cloak, looking at her window and  _ the fire was green _ . She could hear the screams of burning men. She was trembling.  

She had to think. 

She wasn’t safe here. 

Cersei's cruel words still turned in her head. And Shae’s.  _  No one will rape me _ , she had said, showing her the dagger strapped to her leg. But Sansa had no dagger. The weapon that had bitten her throat only moments before made her lack of protection even more palpable. 

When Stannis would win, if Stannis won, he would not look for her. And he would certainly not look for her in her chambers. His soldiers, however, might want to do a bit of pillaging. 

They had weapons, she did not. That was the cold truth.  _ Killers _ rasped Sandor’s voice in her head. She didn’t want to die. But dying might be a lesser evil, considering what could be done to her. 

She opened her door. 

She would not die. She had to hide. Arya was the one gifted for these things, and, not for the first time, Sansa wished she had her sister’s wildness. If her little sister had wanted to hide from something outside of the castle, where would have she gone?

_ Father _ . 

There was a place the soldiers wouldn’t go. A place safe from the Queen. Somewhere Stannis would have to go at one point or another -- and if not him, one of his most important advisors. A man that would know how much she was worth, and hence won’t hurt her. 

Hopefully. 

She ran in the deserted corridor, hiding in alcoves when she heard the footsteps of panicked servants. Her breath was coming in deep, quick, and panicked huffs. She managed to get down by the hidden corridors she had seen her maids use to go about their work. In other circumstances, she might have pondered for a moment on how strange it was to see the world from the same angles her servants would see it from everyday. But now, all of her attention was focused on the muffled sound of her own footsteps. She emerged in the kitchens. From down there, in the lower part of the keep, the cries were even louder. Explosions of green were the only lights that illuminated the room.  

There was a knife on the table. She grabbed it. She had never used a weapon of any sort, but…

_ I’ll just poke them with the pointy end _ . 

Gripping her weapon tight, she ran. She had run the same way, another life ago, from different enemies. 

The sky above the city was black with smoke and green, like the fires burning below. It was heavy too, from the screams of the burning, the drowning, the gutted, the bleeding. Like a big, buzzing shape falling on the city’s shoulders. 

_ War.  _

The tower of the hand was unguarded. She opened the door and ran up the stairs.

It was almost as the last time she had seen it. The solar of the Hand. She could see her father writing the king’s directives. She could see Ice, mounted on the wall.  

But there were only shadows and the sickly green light. Tyrion’s possessions all around. Sansa pulled Sandor’s cloak closer to herself. One hand fisted in the fabric, one hand on her knife, hidden beneath the cloak. She must have been quite a sight. 

“What a pretty thing you are…”

Sansa squealed when a hand gripped her shoulder. 

“Shh, don’t be afraid.” The man smelt of wine and fear. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be wandering around.” 

A flash of green drew the shape of his face, of his teeth shown by a crooked smile and she  _ knew _ . In the night, he was the faceless threat. Her grip on her knife tightened.

_The pointy_ _end_. 

“Please, Ser, leave me alone.” 

“No, little girl, I don't think I’m going to do that. See, I saw you walking outside all by yourself. Surely, you’ll need some protection in these dark, dark times.”

She could hear his smile. She shrugged his hand from her shoulder and stepped back. 

“It is kind of you, Ser,” she shuttered, courteous, always courteous , “but I will be fine on my own.”

“I don’t think so, no.”

Before she had the time to move, he tripped her and sent her to the floor with a kick in her leg. Her head hit the flagstones, and everything shifted. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurred. She heard the rip of her dress, felt the man’s hands on her legs. 

She felt the knife still in her hand. Hidden by the cloak. 

The man was kneeling between her thighs. He bent down, his breath hot on her ear. “Yes, I think I’m going to like you,  _ little girl _ .”

_ Little bird _ , rasped another voice in her head. 

And it was enough. Enough for her to remember the feeling of the blade on her throat. To remember  _ how _ it had pressed on her skin. The movement. 

The man got on his elbows to unlace his breaches. Her arm moved of its own accord and the knife made sickening contact with his throat. Once, twice, thrice. 

She may have been screaming. 

Something wet and warm splashed her face, a metallic odor making her choke for air. Blood. The man had a gaping wound on his neck, wide-eyed, gurgling. There was a flash of green, and she pushed him away with a choked scream. Another flash of green glittered in the man’s eyes. She had heard that the light went out of the dead's eyes. 

It wasn’t true.

Sansa shakily gathered the cloak around her and clambered to her feet. She walked with an eerie feel of calmness to close the door. Then, her eyes steadily fixed in front of her, she turned and made her way to the chair that was against the wall opposite to the door. In a corner, in the shadows.

Her hand still on the knife.

  
  
  
  
  


TYWIN

 

“The battle is over. We’ve won.”

Tywin’s daughter held her youngest child against her chest. 

He wasted no time in giving his orders. The Queen was to be escorted safely back to her quarters, along with her son. The soldiers were taking over the city, finishing the wounded, taking their own to maesters, if there were any left. Taking their fill of whores, if they still had the energy. 

Tywin Lannister never intended to wait to be named Hand of The King to take possession of his quarters. He needed a central point to coordinate the aftermath of the Blackwater, and to see to the kingdom in place of his grandson. 

Dawn caressed the city with its soft light, and with it came the stark realisation of the immensity of the damage . The moans of the dying could still be heard, echoing alongside the still joyful cries of the victors. 

The door of the tower was open when Tywin reached its entrance, and he stopped. Had the creature that dared call himself his son left the entire tower -- with the most delicate of state business in it-- open for all to see?

Tywin climbed the stairs, followed by two guards, and walked down the aisle until he found the solar.  _ His _ solar. This door was closed. He nodded a silent command to the guards to follow behind him. 

Tywin drew his sword and pushed the door open as quietly as possible. 

The first thing he saw was the corpse. He silently stepped over it to the desk. Tywin passed a cursory hand over one letter to a report, but there didn’t appear to be anything of great importance out of place.

It was then that he saw her. 

Her head and hands were the only things that weren’t covered by a long, white cloak --  _ Kingsguard _ . It was covered in so much blood that he could have mistaken it for a cloak of his own house. She was looking at him steadily, her eyes twinkling with fear. Long, red hair was matted with blood. 

“Who are you?”

She inclined her head, hand still gripped to her knife. He had no doubt that she would use it again. 

“Sansa Stark.”

Tywin replaced his sword in its sheath.

"Wait outside." he murmured to his men, and they acquiesced after a look of befuddlement passed between them.

Ever-so-slowly, he walked towards her. She looked so young, dwarfed in the big, dirty cloak, blood staining the cool paleness of her skin. Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard, sister of the King in the North, key to Winterfell. 

A lost pup. 

He stopped a few feet from her. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. His words held no malice, but were instead intended as something of a clinical inquiry. She looked him over to search for clues, with something of steel in her icy eyes.

“Lannister. Lord Tywin?” 

It was less a question than a confirmation. He nodded, and walked on the side to put himself between the girl and the corpse. It would not do for her to panic now. He had little patience for panicking maidens, especially ones armed with freshly-used knives. 

With a careful observation of their surroundings, he evaluated the scene. There was no need to be a citadel-trained maester to work out what had taken place there. Surprise, yes. Because of the  _ who _ , and the  _ where _ . Because of the tiny she-wolf cowering in the chair. Her gaze never left him. 

He extended his arm to her slowly, for fear of frightening her further, and took the knife from her hand. She let him do so, giving him a slight nod, almost imperceptible, as if she was giving him authorisation. Her feeble attempt to regain control didn’t faze him for a second . They both knew who held the power.

He lowered the knife to the floor -- it had been nothing more than a kitchen knife. His hand came back towards her, and she tensed as if she expected him to slap her. With some consideration, it was probably the least likely thing she could expect. He passed an arm under Sansa’s knees and one around her back to support her as he lifted her into his arms. 

The girl was light, too light for someone of her height.

Without another word, Tywin carried her down the tower’s many steps to the closest guest chambers, and set her on the bed. She never lowered her gaze. 

“Thank you, Ser.” she said in a trembling voice. 

He didn’t answer before turning on his heel and leaving her.

Tywin returned to the Hand’s solar --  _ his  _  solar. He crouched next to the dead man, his eyes cold, his gaze purposeful. Sansa’s victim had brown hair, eyes still wide in death, his cock still out of his pants, laying in a puddle of his own blood and piss. His throat had been gashed as if an animal had savaged it. One could easily take the work of a dull blade for the brutal rip of claws. 

_ Sansa Stark _ . 

One thing was certain, the girl had killed with more efficiency than many boys and men her own age. It was dirty, untrained work, but the man was dead all the same. Tywin palmed the man’s sides, looking for any proof of his fealty left on him. Why a maiden such as her had been alone, in a restricted place, during a battle, was lost on him and he was certain to have the jobs, or heads, of the men responsible for letting her flee Maegor’s Holdfast as soon as he’d completed his investigation. Had he not checked himself that the desk was undisturbed, he would have thought her spying; but again, given the still-warm blood of her assailant, she had not had the time. 

Then, his hand caught onto something. 

A purse, full of gold. No, not full, but enough money to erase many from the list of suspects. 

_ Fools.  _

Tywin Lannister stood up, his jaw working as his mind raced. He closed the door of the Hand’s solar, and only then called for the maester. 

Not Pycelle, of course. Not only was the man incompetent, but he was also known to paw over young girls. No, he called for _ his _ maester, for a work well done. 

In less than an hour -- which he passed reviewing the damage of the battle on the capital -- the man was introduced in his solar after the examination. 

Tywin looked up from his desk to acknowledge the  maester. He made no sign that the man could sit, and  _ his  _ maester knew enough not to take liberties. After a moment, Tywin nodded to him to give his report. 

“Lady Sansa was bruised, and she has suffered several superficial wounds, the most worrisome one at the head. Head wounds tend to be unstable, and for now I am not able to determine if it will fade in a few days or cause death.”

Tywin clenched his jaw imperceptibly. 

“Her maidenhead?”

“I couldn’t examine that part of her, my Lord. She jumped and was ready to use a chair as a weapon to stop me.”

Tywin stared at him in silence. “However, my Lord, I can tell you that her upper thighs were bruised, and her gown torn.”

Tywin nodded the man’s dismissal. The maester stopped just near the door. “My Lord, if I may…” said the man, with a bow to his Lord. “The Lady had scars. From before the battle, My Lord. Whip lashes across her knees and back and now healed internal injuries in her abdomen.”

Tywin nodded, keeping his silence, and rose from his seat.

“Come.”

The Stark Girl was sitting against the backboard of the bed, her back as straight as if she was attending court. She still had the ragged white cloak around her, her eyes focused very far away. 

The maester had drawn up a chair just next to her. Tywin carefully but purposefully made his way over to it and sat. The girl stayed still as a statue, her hands folded on her lap. 

“Wait outside for now.” He ordered the maester. 

Tywin waited until he heard the door shut. He tipped Sansa’s chin with the tip of his fingers to force her to look at him. She winced, but didn’t make a move to stop him. The dark leather of his battle gloves contrasted against her pale skin. 

Her gaze dropped down. He felt irritation crawl under his skin. 

“Lady Sansa. I found you in the Hand’s solar, next to a dead man. Explain.”

She twisted her hands under the cover of the cloak.

“We were told the battle was lost, my Lord. After the Queen took leave of Maegor’s Holdfast, I had to seek a safe place.”

“A place safer than the guarded room where the ladies had rightfully been assembled?” he drawled with a raised eyebrow. 

“The Queen implied that we might face unspeakable acts, my Lord. Acts ladies should not speak of. I felt that the Hand’s tower would hold no interest for Stannis’ men.” 

“Smart.” He nodded to encourage her further. She looked at him with surprise, before lowering her gaze again. 

“I went into the solar. The- the man must have followed me. He… said things. Cruel, lewd things. Then he hit me, and I-I fell.”

Tywin felt her tensing where his fingers met her jaw. Her pulse, too, was accelerating, but her eyes were downcast and her face as blank as it could be, with her red-rimmed eyes. He loosened his hold slightly. 

“He did not rape me.” she blurted. Her breath came out as a shudder. 

Tywin nodded. He looked at the girl for any trace of lie, but find none. he let his hand drop on his knees.

“We still need to examine you, to wipe away any doubt.”

“Ser, please, no-”

“You have a choice. Otherwise, your position here may be compromised.”

He saw her fear grow behind her eyes. She knew, of course, what the repercussions of such a thing would be. He saw her look at her own hands, covered in blood, as if they would give her some information with which to make her decision. She held them in front of her face. 

His patience was running thin.

“You will let the maester will examine you, _ or I will.” _

Suddenly, she looked at him with such daring as he had rarely seen. He wondered for a second if she would take him to his word, to the double sense of his word, and for much longer at the  _ why _ . But the flash was gone, and she silently nodded. 

“Good.”

  
  


SANSA

 

The denizens of Joffrey's court had striven to outdo each other today. Jalabhar Xho was all in feathers, a plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed like to take flight. The High Septon's crystal crown fired rainbows through the air every time he moved his head. At the council table, King Joffrey sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. 

Squirming through a press of knights, squires, and rich townfolk, Sansa reached the front of the gallery just as a blast of trumpets announced the entry of Lord Tywin Lannister.

She held her breath. 

She hadn’t spoken with, met, or even seen Tywin Lannister since  _ that _ morning. He had stared at her with his green Lannister eyes like the  _ burning, screeching, cold Green Fire _ , called the maester to examine her, and left. She had been bathed, given a gown, and taken back by the red cloaks to her chambers. Shae had fussed over her -- and still did. Sansa was lucky that the aftermath of the battle was so full of activity. The gossip of her  _ accident _ hadn’t seemed to interest many members of the court. She had taken to bed to heal for at least a few days afterwards and no one disturbed her. 

Only Cersei had come to her. The Queen looked at her with something like pride and pity together. Told her what she was to say should any courtiers come prying, how she was to react. 

The door opened. 

Tywin Lannister rode his warhorse down the length of the hall, his gaze fixed on the king, and dismounted before the Iron Throne. Sansa had never seen such armor; all burnished red steel, inlaid with golden scrollwork and ornamentation. His rondels were sunbursts, the roaring lion that crowned his helm had ruby eyes, and a lioness on each shoulder fastened a cloth-of-gold cloak so long and heavy that it draped the hindquarters of his charger. Even the horse's armor was gilded, and his bardings were shimmering crimson silk emblazoned with the lion of Lannister.

His gloves, however, his dark leather gloves, were the same. 

Sansa could see the effect it had on the noblemen, who looked at the Lord of Casterly Rock like he was made of pure gold despite the dung his horse had scattered along the hall to just in front of the throne. Joffrey had to step over and around it to greet his grandfather and name him Savior of the City. 

Joff made a show of asking his grandfather to assume governance of the realm, and Lord Tywin solemnly accepted the responsibility, "Until Your Grace does come of age." Then  a squire ran to Joff, who put the Hand’s brooch on a crimson hassock, only for the squire to then present the brooch to the king’s grandfather. Lord Tywin took the little golden thing in his hand like one would have taken something long lost. He looked at it for a moment, then bowed his head in thanks to the King. 

Lord Tywin took a seat at the council table beside the Queen. After the destrier was led off and his homage removed, Cersei nodded for the ceremonies to continue.

A fanfare of brazen trumpets greeted each of the heroes as he stepped between the great oaken doors. Heralds cried his name and deeds for all to hear, and the noble knights and highborn ladies cheered as lustily as cutthroats at a cockfight. Pride of place was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, a once-powerful man gone to fat, yet still handsome. His sons followed him in; Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable.

The king descended the throne once more to greet them, a great honor. He fastened about the throat of each a chain of roses wrought in soft yellow gold, from which hung a golden disc with the lion of Lannister picked out in rubies. "The roses support the lion, as the might of Highgarden supports the realm," proclaimed Joffrey. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."

_ And now it comes _ .

Loras Tyrell asked to be in the Kingsguard, and Sansa stared at him with concealed disbelief. He didn’t look like the type, too soft somehow. But then again, looks could be deceiving. She wondered if he would beat her, given the order. She wondered if he would beat his sister, if he would stand in front of the door hearing her cries on the wedding night. 

She wondered if he was ready for Joffrey. 

Ser Garlan Tyrell, five years senior to Ser Loras, was a taller, bearded version of his more famous younger brother. He was thicker about the chest and broader at the shoulders.

 

"Your Grace," Garlan said when the king approached him, "I have a maiden sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but Lord Renly went to war before the marriage could be consummated, so she remains innocent. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time.”

Joffrey turned towards a beautiful girl with long auburn hair and big doe-like eyes. She smiled prettily and curtsied to the king. 

“Is it true, my Lady?”

“ Yes, your Grace. I have heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and have come to love you from afar. To be your promised would be the greatest honor for any woman you behold.”

_ Greatest honor indeed.  _

King Joffrey made a show of looking surprised. "Ser Garlan, your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."

Sansa felt the stares of the courtiers on the back of her neck, on her cheeks. She kept her gaze on the king. 

Cersei rose graciously to call for attention. For a second, Sansa was afraid that she would tell them she was sullied. Not by the loss of her maidenhead, but at the least by the blood on her hands.  “Your Grace, your small council agrees that it wouldn’t be wise nor proper to marry not only the daughter of a man executed for treason, but also the sister of a man in open rebellion against the crown. Hence, your Grace, the small council implores you to renounce your betrothal to Sansa Stark, for the good of the Realm. Lady Margaery will be a much more suitable queen.”

The Ladies and Lords immediately jumped to the idea like a dog to a bone. “Give us Margaery! No traitor queens!”

She ignored them and looked at the small council. Varys was whispering something in Baelish’s ear and Baelish seemed quite interested. 

Lord Tywin turned his eyes to catch a glimpse of her, without conspicuously moving his face. He was impassive, like the last morning on which they’d seen each other. Not disdainful, not cruel, but his eyes seemed to pierce through her. Even among the powerful men of the council, even next to the throne, he exuded some sort of commanding power. 

All week, the Red Keep had been pulsing with the stories of the mighty guest that had destroyed the traitor’s army. An army led by Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, with his crimson armor and thundering war horse. And she remembered how he had picked her up as if she was nothing but a leaf. His armor had smelled of blood, ashes, sweat and steel. He had held the cloak around her to protect her modesty. 

His gloves had been covered in blood. 

“I would only be too happy to grant my people their wishes, Mother. But I swore an oath to the Gods I cannot break.”

Sansa looked at the King, then. Not because the boy was particularly interesting, but because she had a dire idea of the consequences if she misstepped. 

The High Septon stepped forward. “Your Grace, if I may, the bethroral was announced before House Stark showed their duplicity. Their crimes against the Realm freed you of any vow you may have sworn and your engagement to Lady Sansa is, as a result of those crimes, invalid.”

Lord Tywin watched his grandson. The young King didn’t even seem to notice, pleased as he was by the crowd’s calls for his new Queen. 

“By the Grace of the Gods, I am now free to listen to my heart. I will marry your dear sister, and with great happiness, Ser.”

_ I am free of Joffrey _ . 

_ I will not have to kiss him, _

\-- a punch in the lips, her head on the cold stones

_ nor give him my maidenhood, _

\-- the ripping of her gown, the pain

_ nor bear him children.  _

\--The slash of the knife, the warm blood on her. 

_ Let Margaery Tyrell have it all, the poor girl… _

She wondered if she would have killed Joff on their wedding night. 

 

By the time the outcry had died down, the Lord of Highgarden had been seated at the council table, and his sons had joined the other knights and lordlings beneath the windows.

Sansa tried to look forlorn and abandoned as other heroes of the Battle of the Blackwater were summoned forth to receive their rewards. She had to play her part. She couldn’t afford to ridicule Joff. She took strength in the idea that he would ridicule himself soon enough. He obviously didn’t need her help to look a great fool. 

Those who had changed their allegiance during the battle needed only to swear fealty to Joffrey, but the ones who had fought for Stannis until the bitter end were compelled to speak. Their words decided their fate. If they begged forgiveness for their treasons and promised to serve loyally henceforth, Joffrey welcomed them back into the King's peace and restored them to all their lands and rights.

Sansa watched all of the newly-made warriors swearing their loyalty. They didn’t know what they were doing. They didn’t know that Joff would never truly forgive them. One day, they would have blades in their backs. 

In a way, they were only trying to survive like she was. 

A handful remained defiant, however. "Do not imagine this is done, boy," warned one, the bastard son of some Florent or other. "The Lord of Light protects King Stannis, now and always. All your swords and all your scheming shall not save you when his hour comes."

Sansa could have scoffed.  _ What Gods? _ rasped a voice inside her mind. 

"Your hour is come right now." Joffrey beckoned to Ser Ilyn Payne to take the man out and strike his head off. But no sooner had that one been dragged away than a knight of solemn mien with a fiery heart on his surcoat shouted out, "Stannis is the true king! A monster sits on the Iron Throne, an abomination born of incest!"

The knight raised his voice and continued to speak as the courtiers looked on in horror. "Joffrey is the black worm eating the heart of the realm! Darkness was his father, and Death his mother! Destroy him before he corrupts you all! Destroy them all, Queen Whore and King Worm, vile dwarf and whispering spider, the false flowers. Save yourselves!" One of the gold cloaks knocked the man off his feet, but he continued to shout. "The scouring fire will come! King Stannis will return!"

_ Fanatics. _

She had heard things about this “God of Light”. Everybody had, but never had she seen someone disregard their own life in name of a  _ God _ .

Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture… and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it.

"Mother!" he wailed.

With every eye on the King, somehow the man on the floor wrested a spear away from one of the gold cloaks, and used it to push himself back to his feet. "The throne denies him!" he cried. "He is no king!"

Sansa wondered if the incensed man would manage to kill Joffrey. 

Cersei flew to her son, but Lord Tywin remained impassive. The Lord of the Rock moved his finger, Meryn Trant drew his sword, and it was all over.  Blood splashed on the floor’s stones.

In another time, Sansa would have gasped. Maybe even screamed. 

Now she just felt something hardening behind her eyes. She absentmindedly thought that, maybe, her tears had frozen inside her. 

Lord Tywin stood then, and stood tall. “To the survivors. Repent if you will; but no other such scandal will be allowed.”

His voice rang through the hall, and there was no other noise. He walked towards the throne, and for a moment, Sansa feared he would sit on it. But the Lord sat instead on one of the steps, his back straight. 

_ Protector of the Realm _ \--

And just like that, the step had become a throne.


	2. Fear and Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First of all I want to thank you ALL for your compliments and enthusiasm. It was not only very kind, but also very inspiring in my writing work. I have a lot of tenderness for this story - it is already outlined fully in my drafts - and the reception was awe inspiring. 
> 
> This chapter took very long to get out only because the beta that used to correct it sort of... ghosted me? SO if ANYONE feels like they could edit this work, knowing that I am french and dyslexic and thus tend to do a LOT of typos. mystakes, please step forwards! Betas for unconventional ships such as this one are quite rares I'm afraid.
> 
> This chapter is ... a bit less than the first one I think, but don't worry, we are in the good rythm. I have two others already written! I hope I will be able to post them sooner. 
> 
> See you all later! ~LadyBraken

SANSA

 

Shae hadn’t been herself lately. It had taken Sansa about two days to understand the reason. She couldn’t have done anything, not while still being betrothed to the King. Shae had fussed over her, a sad smile when Sansa had told her the reason of her injuries. She had taken Sansa in her arms, whispering how proud she was.

Sansa wasn’t proud. But she had survived, and that was the most important. 

Shae was twisting one of her locks to the back of her head, a northern style Sansa kept since she had been freed from the King. Simple, elegant, it was mostly made to keep her hair out of her face. 

“I think I should visit Tyrion, today.” She felt Shae’s hands stop behind her. “Of course, it would only be proper for me to go with my handmaiden.” Sansa heard a choked sob behind her, and choose not to turn around to give Shae time to compose herself. She chose to ignore the spike of fear that rushed through her at such a demonstrative emotion. 

Their eyes met in the mirror. “Thank you…” whispered the handmaiden. Sansa smiled back. Then, she seemed to remember something. “I have a gift for you, my Lady.”

She went to retrieve her gift, roughly wrapped in fabric. 

It wasn’t  fabric, it was a shawl. Quite thick, and dark grey, not light enough to be considered a Stark color. Dull enough to suit her will to blend.

Shae took it from her hand to place it on her shoulders. The fabric was indeed made to cover her breasts and hide the curve of her waist. 

“There. You’ll be more comfortable--” Sansa didn’t know how to express what was boiling inside her, and in an spontaneous jump, she took her handmaiden in her arms. After a moment of tenseness, Shae returned her embrace. 

Sansa quickly recovered from her emotional outburst and let the other woman go with an apologetic smile. She was relieved to see that her handmaiden had a warm look on her face. 

“Now we must go quickly and take care not to be seen.”

It took them quite some time to find where Lord Tyrion had been hidden, for it became very clear that the imp had not been given proper quarters for his recovery. They had to go deep down the castle to finally find a small, dark room that smelled of disease. A young squire was guarding the entry. The boy, named Podrick, tripped over his own tongue when he saw them approach, but Shae hurried to calm him down. 

Sansa almost gasped at the state Tyrion was in. “Has a maester seen to his wounds?” she asked the squire. 

“M- Maester Pycelle examined him once, My Lady.” Sputtered the boy, reddening. Yet, he did not move from his place in front of the door. 

_ Exterior threat. _

Sansa sighed as Shae fussed over the little Lord. She came closer, only to see that the wounds looked quite infected, even from behind the bands. She thought and thought hard. 

This was from Cersei, or Joffrey, it didn’t matter. She had to talk to the power above. 

“Podrick, did Lord Tyrion ever mention his Lord father?”

Once again, the squire sputtered incoherently. Sansa only smiled at Shae’s curious look, and turned towards the squire. She put her hand on his shoulder like she had seen Cersei do so many a time. 

“Podrick. It is important you answer me, for Lord Tyrion.”

The boy immediately started to think, and think hard. “He… he does not like Lord Tyrion, My Lady. Lord Tyrion said that Lord Tywin thought him an insult for the Lannister Dynasty. For their name, My Lady. But he was quite drunk when he said that.”

Sansa hummed. 

His Legacy. That would be in tune with the way the Lannister children were bearing their name, bearing themselves. 

She could hear Lord Tyrion moan in sleepy pain. She had to do something. Despite being a Lannister, the Imp had helped her once, and she knew quite well how careful the Lannisters were with their debts. If only for that, and not gratitude, she had to help him. 

“Thank you, Podrick. This information will be most useful.” She said absentmindedly. She had an inkling on how to proceed, but not on where to start. 

“Shae, do you know if Lord Tyrion has any friends at court?” When Shae looked at her like she had grown a second head, she corrected “An ally, someone that would prefer him living than dead?”

Shae had her hand on the little Lord’s shoulder. “I don’t see any… Maybe Lord Varys? But Tyrion didn’t trust him.”

Sansa turned towards her. “The best thing we can do is start gossip that a  _ Lannister _ is being inappropriately treated during a battle recovery. Not Lord Tyrion, but A Lannister. Make it sound scandalous.”

Shae made a determined face and nodded. 

“Come with me to my chambers, you will be free to do as you please afterwards.” As they left she turned to smile at Podrick, he turned redder than the Lannister colors. 

As she turned away, she felt a little bad for how she had treated the squire, but she squashed the feeling soon enough. They had the same goal, after all. 

Once in Sansa’s chambers, Shae left her. Sansa took a needle and started to embroider the hem of the new shawl. First, she thought of putting a direwolf on it. Sweet dream, stupid dream as it was. A lion was excluded too. She shuddered at the very thought. 

So, small, and in the reverse side of the fabric, she made a dagger.

  
  


TYWIN

 

Tywin Lannister gritted his teeth.  

He had had his solar cleaned of the blood, corpses and traces of his youngest son’s presence. Of course, the Imp had done everything to sully his father’s home, and name. No surprise in that. 

According to the reports, said son had entertained a whore (of course) and drunk with a sellsword instead of ruling the kingdom. Of course. 

But if only that was the worst of it. 

The crown was resting on feet of sand. The debt both to the Iron Bank and the Lannister House were phenomenal. If the second was an advantage, Tywin had no trust in the timing in which the Iron Bank would claim their debt. 

_ Weakness. _

The Seven kingdoms were more like Seven Shards, the King’s legitimacy contested everywhere because of  _ foolish rumours _ . 

And they had his son. 

_ Weakness.  _

His quill scratched the paper day and night since he had arrived. The seal of the hand was being seen at every corner of Westeros.  _ As it should _ . There was no place Tywin Lannister couldn’t reach - and he would remind the world of that. 

His evaluation of the court wasn’t much better. Nothing changed, really, except the manageability of the King, and in this case, the King’s regent. Now  _ that _ was starting to be a problem, one he would resolve sooner than later. 

_ His blood _ . 

Cersei appeared at his door.

He nodded toward the chair in front of him for her to sit, but didn’t stop writing. He was looking at her with his eyes down -- a technique he had learnt and mastered during Aeris’s reign.  

It didn’t take long for her to start fidgeting. Several times, she opened her mouth but thought better, and didn’t dare talk. 

Finally, it came. “Father, you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes.”

Still, he waited until he had finished his missive to put down his quill and address his daughter. 

“Tell me how do you think things fared during my absence.”

“Surely you know everything that happened in the Red Keep.”

“Of course.” he sneered, “But I did not ask you to tell me everything.”

“It has been difficult. Between the incessant rebellions and the fear of attack, the people were more agitated than I had seen them in a long time. Of course, Joffrey dealt with their anger as he saw fit.”

“I see. Tyrion?”

“Whoring, drinking, being his usual... self.” She answered without a moment of thought. 

“And what of Sansa Stark?”

A pause. 

“The Little Dove? Well.” Cersei rose an eyebrow and looked to the side, tilting her head. “She’s a pretty thing, for sure. Pretty eyes, pretty hair. Lightheaded, poor thing. Not a wit for her. Always… parroting. Always proper. Her head full of songs and knights… She would have never been a good queen.”

“I see.” Tywin continued to write and seal letters for a few seconds. Then, he put his quill in the ink pot and leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed in front of him. “I have heard many interesting tales about you and your son.” He said. 

“Whatever you heard, it is a lie, or an exaggeration, Father.”

He stopped moving for half a breath, but it was enough for Cersei’s smile to fall off her face. “Very well. So, is it not true that your son dismissed Ser Barristan, one of the best knights of the entire kingdom on a whim?”

“The man had failed to protect King Robert. The man was old.”

“And yet, as I remember, Kingsguard is a life-long engagement.”

She stayed silent.  _ Good. _

“Your son is out of control. I have reports of a noble girl, whose bloodline comes back to a thousand years beaten and humiliated in front of court. I have a report that his own betrothed was threatened with execution  _ by the King himself _ .”

“She’s the daughter of a traitor--”

“She’s what keeps your brother alive!” he boomed.

His voice suddenly went calm. “You will keep your son in control, and you will not shame the family name more than you already have. Now get out.”

“And Cersei.” he called before she had the time to go, “You better do everything in your power to make sure that the Tyrells do not hear of it.  _ Any  _ of it.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. 

  
  


SANSA

 

Shae was helping Sansa into her grown when someone knocked on the door. 

Immediately, Sansa covered herself as Shae went to open the door. Sansa let out a breath when she saw it was only a page. “Lady Margaery invites you to come meet her in the gardens, m’lady.” said the man, giving her a little paper. She read the note. 

Why were the Tyrells wanting to meet her? For it was not only the work of Margaery, for sure. The young woman was to be queen, and she hadn’t put herself in that position alone, in the same way, Sansa hadn’t put herself in her position alone. Did she want to be sure that Sansa wouldn’t slit her throat? That she didn’t have any ill will for “stealing her place”? Yes, that was probably part of it. But there has to be something else. She couldn’t afford to let anything pass under her nose -- Joffrey would only too gladly shoot her with his crossbow at the least suspicion. 

She didn’t trust Joffrey’s new bride. She wasn’t sure she trusted anyone anymore. 

Even so, she must accept. She was nothing now, the discarded daughter of a traitor and disgraced sister of a rebel lord. She could scarcely refuse Joffrey's queen-to-be.

So she took a quill and ink, and wrote a note of acceptance for Margaery Tyrell. 

A few minutes later, Loras Tyrell came to escort her into the garden. The boy -- young man, for he was grown and anointed knight-- was even prettier from up close. He had something of a startling beauty, with his wild curls and perfect smile. He made Sansa think of Jaime Lannister, when he had appeared in the hall of Winterfell, golden armor, golden locks, golden knight. 

He took her arm as if it was taken for granted that she would give it. 

“It is very nice of you to come fetch me, Ser Loras,” she said with a smile that she didn’t feel. Ser Loras seemed to feel her reluctance, and luckily, didn’t try to come closer to her than what was proper or polite. 

He smiled at her softly. “Of course, it is my pleasure, my Lady. And my Grandmother wouldn’t let me alone if I hadn’t been the perfect knight for our guest.”

“Your Grandmother?”

“Lady Olenna. I don’t believe you have met yet, she is to sup with you as well.”

“Ah yes. The  _ Queen of Thorns _ .”

Loras laughed warmly. “Indeed. But you better not use that name in her presence, though.”

“Of course, and I trust my misstep is safe with you.”

“I shall take it into my grave, My Lady.”

They got out of Maegor, and passed the training yard, where the men were training under Ser Loras’s brother watchful eyes. Sansa winced. 

Ser Loras looked at her strangely. “I am told most maidens like to watch knights sparring,” he teased. 

Of course. Stupid girls liking stupids things. Little Doves. 

“Such maidens never felt the pain of these blows,” she snapped. She felt her cheeks redden and offered her escort a half smile. “My apologies, Ser.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” He said, and immediately made them walk forwards, away from the yard. But his face didn’t have the warmness it had had before. 

Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. Both were seven-footers, wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled. When Sansa got close enough to see their faces, she could not tell one from the other. They had the same strong jaws, the same deep blue eyes, the same thick red mustaches. "Who are they?" she asked Ser Loras, her discomfit forgotten for a moment.

"My grandmother's personal guard," he told her. "Their mother named them Erryk and Arryk, but Grandmother can't tell them apart, so she calls them Left and Right."

Sansa addressed them a polite nod, wondering if there was a way to tell the two apart. Surely it would be quite insulting to be called “left and right”. 

Lady Margaery came to meet her. She was indeed a very beautiful girl, and looked like a softer version of her brother. Her robe was womanly, without touching to the vulgar, blue green and gold. 

She smiled and Sansa curtsied, unsure if she was supposed to bend the knee. She would not have, she thought. 

“Lady Sansa! I’m pleased you came. Be welcome.”

“ You’re a dear!” She said to her brother before dismissing him with a sisterly kiss, and took Sansa’s hand. “You must call me Margaery,” she said, “May I call you Sansa?”

Sansa tilted her head in agreement. “Of course, Margaery.” 

They arrived under a big, colorful pavilion under which many ladies were sitting, surrounding an old woman. 

“May I present you the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”

Lady Olenna raised her hand. “Kiss me, child.” Sansa rigidly took the proffered hand and whispered a kiss above the knuckles. “It is so good of you to visit me in my foolish flock of hens. I’m very sorry for your losses.”

“I’m sure, and I’m sorry for yours, Lady Margaery. Lord Renly was very brave.”

“Yes, brave and gallant and charming, and very clean. He knew how to dress and somehow had the knowing that he was fit to be clean.”

The image of Joffrey slouching on the Iron throne while his stern, regal Grandfather ruled from the steps imposed itself in Sansa’s mind. 

Sansa tilted her head “As many men, I’m afraid.”

The declaration made Lady Olenna freeze a second, before the old woman snorted. “Oh, I like you.”

Margaery frowned. “Father liked him, so did Loras.”

“Loras is good at making men fall off their horses with a stick. That does not make him wise. As your  _ fatted _ father…”

“Grandmother! What will Lady Sansa think about us?”

“You might think we have some wits about us. one of us at any rate. It was treason, I warned them. Robert has two sons and Renly has an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly Iron Throne? We should have stayed well out of this all if you asked me. But once the cow has been milked there’s  no squirting the cream back up her udders, and here we are, to see things through...What do you say to that, Sansa?”

Sansa kept silent, her face blank. Lady Olenna spoke fast, and in a way that admitted no contradiction. She seemed to be a sharp woman, and it wasn’t Sansa’s place to question the strategy the old woman had revealed. 

When it was clear that Sansa would not answer, Lady Olenna straightened on her chair. “Ah. Should we have some lemon cake?”

Sansa smiled. “Lemon cakes? They’re my favorite.”

“So we’ve been told.” the old woman said with a hint of what, fondness, mockery? Sansa couldn’t tell.  “Are you going to bring us the food or do you intend to let us starve to death?” She snapped at a servant. 

She rose and put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Here, Sansa, come sit with me. I’m much less boring than any of these others.”

Sansa had no doubt of that. Lady Olenna led the two young women under a pavilion that had been carved out of the cliff. Some tables and chairs had already been installed. They could see the sea from there. Not the stinky sea of the port, but the deep one that the nobles men and women liked to see from their window. “Do you know my son, the Lord of Highgarden?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“No great pleasure, believe me. But again, my husband was an oaf again… He died falling off a cliff. I was told that he was looking up at the sky, and didn’t look where his horse was taking him. Now, my son is doing the same thing, except that he's riding a lion. 

_ Here it comes. _

__ “Now, I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy. This… Joffrey.”

Sansa’s breath hitched. But she felt somehow… less afraid. Not of the reality of the consequences that may fall upon her, but of the consequences themselves. 

“Joff-His Grace is strong and brave as a Lion,” she said, but it was very clear that she didn’t mean it. 

“Yes, yes, the Lannisters are lions, and everytime a Tyrell farts it smells of roses. Now, child-” 

Sansa didn’t know if it was her stare or the way her back had stiffened that stopped Lady Olenna. She was glad all the same. 

“My father used to say the truth.”

“Yes, he had that reputation. Yet they arrested him, and took his head-”

“Precisely.”

“I am to be married to Joffrey. I just want to know what that means” said Margaery softly. 

“We will not betray you, child. I swear.”

“Oath are winds in this city…”

Sansa stared at the crashing waves. Theirs sound was smoothing, relentless. No matter who sat on the Iron Throne, no matter who died and whose head on the walls, the waves kept crashing on these shores. She looked at Margaery. She was probably older than Sansa by a few years, but she was a child, here. She was a child where it counted. 

“He’s a monster,” she said and she was proud that her voice didn’t falter. “The Regent Queen encourages him in his ways.”

There was a silence. 

“Ah, well, That’s a pity.” said Lady Olenna. The woman didn’t quite seem concerned, even if her granddaughter had whitened. 

“Do not trust the Kingsgards.” Sansa added urgently, looking at Margaery. “No matter what happens,  _ do not trust the White Cloaks. _ ”

Margaery’s eyes went wide but she was stopped from answering when a servant arrived running towards them. 

“Lady Sansa. The Hand of the King asked for your presence, if you please.”

Sansa didn’t miss the look Lady Olenna threw the servant. “O-of course. Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery.”

Sansa followed the young man back from the garden to the tower of the hand. She felt the deep thump of apprehension inside her breast as she came closer to the building. A Red Cloak opened the door for her and she prepared herself to ascend the steps. A guard followed her three steps behind her and it sent a shiver down her spine. The tower looked quite different from at night, less dead, less dreamy. 

Lord Tywin was at his desk, sitting like he would one day take roots on his chair and continue to write whatever missives he was writing. He didn’t stop nor acknowledge that she had entered, but it gave her quite the time to assess him. She felt the waves of fright crashing inside her, and she was sure he could hear the drumming of her heart from where he was. 

She didn’t dare move. 

“Lady Sansa,” he growled as she entered, “Sit.”

Sansa obeyed, and sat in one of the chairs, as Lord Tywin continued to write. Something told her that it was something he often did. A ray of light fell from the square window onto his face, sharpening his cheekbones, making a halo around his blond hair streaked with grey, casting shadows under him. He looked more- maybe not peaceful for there was something in him that gave the impression that he could jump at your throat at any moment, a tension -- more calm, ruling from there, sitting straighter in the chair than many kings did on the throne, his face stony, blank. So, as she did every time she had to wait at court, every time she had to wait for punishment, she froze. 

Finally, Lord Tywin put down his quill. His eyes -- they were green, she noticed, but not the emerald of his daughter, no they had a golden quality in it-- immediately held hers. She shivered, but didn’t lower her gaze. She wasn’t sure how  _ this _ Lannister reacted, she wasn’t sure of what he wanted. 

“Lady Sansa, do you know why I asked you to come here?”

“It -it hasn’t been told to me, my Lord.”

He tilted his head and clasped his hands in front of him. “Indeed. I called for you to have some clarifications about information that has arrived to me.”

Sansa only nodded, not daring interrupt the man. He seemed to acknowledge that and continued. “Firstly, you will tell me again what happened the night of the Blackwater.  _ Entirely _ .”

She gulped. She didn’t want to shutter. She didn’t want to hesitate and make him think that she was lying. “The other women and I were conducted into the Maegor holdfast. From there, we mostly waited. After a moment, the Queen asked for me to be at her side. She was already… The Queen was helping all of us the best as her Grace could and her presence-”  She stopped. She looked at Lord Tywin, trying to detect his intention. Trying to see if she would be punished for her words, which, of course, in a way or another she would be. 

He stared at her like he could she the pit of her mind. “Speak the truth,” he said cooly, and Sansa had to bite her tongue to stop her sharp answer. She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her hands on her lap, staring at them as if she could still see the blood.

“She was quite in her cups. She told me the fate that waited for us if we lost. That Stannis soldiers would throw themselves on everything with breast, and that a thing like me would look like a piece of cake just ripe to be eaten. She said that she couldn’t even hope to seduce Stannis to spare herself and her children, but that the soldiers wouldn’t come to us because Ser Ilyn would kill us before that. ”

She clasped her hands to avoid fidgeting the hem of her sleeve, and took care to keep her head high. This man had seen her covered in blood, half naked. She would not allow him to see more weakness he could use. 

“Then someone came to tell us that all was lost. Her Grace immediately got out of the holdfast and the ladies started to panic. I tried to calm them despite- I tried to calm them. Made them sing the Mother hymn. Telling them that all would be well.” Sansa had a bitter laugh. My handmaiden, Shae, told me to get out of there. She distracted Ser Ilyn, so I could go to my room.”

“Not in the tower of the Hand.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I thought I would be safe in my room. I even bared to the door but- There was already someone inside.”

Lord Tywin’s jaw was working, but he didn’t lift his gaze. 

“Sandor Clegane. He was… drunk. Laying on my bed in full armor.” 

“Did he touch you?”

She didn’t know what to answer. What had he done, exactly? Did she really wanted to  _ tell _ ? But, Sansa was sure of something. If she didn’t tell Lord Tywin, he would know in one way or another. And she would pay for that. 

She lowered her gaze. “He asked me to go with him, but I refused. He said he would make me sing. He put his dagger at my throat. He put his dagger against my throat and asked me to sing. So I sang. When I stopped, he was gone.” She lowered her scarf to show the mark that was still there. She had been so sure, at the moment, that Sandor wouldn’t hurt her. But he had laid atop of her, and the  _ other man _ had done just the same thing, and even if Sandor hadn’t gone through, she knew  _ known _ what had been in his mind. What could have happened. 

She felt betrayed, and stupid for feeling such a thing. Hadn’t the man himself warned her against himself? Against all? All men were killers, and it seemed like some women could be too. 

“Then,” she continued because she was hating this feeling of  _ weakness _ inside her “ After he had put a dagger at my throat, kissed me a left me along with his old, blood cloak, I had to get out of there. It wasn’t safe. My rooms weren’t safe, and I didn’t have any weapon.s”

“Do you have any training with a weapon of any sort?”

She shook her head. “My sister used to said to pick’em with the pointy end.”

She looked up to see a twitch at the corners of his mouth. Maybe was passed as a smile for such a man, she didn’t know. “So I took the servant’s ways. I arrived in the kitchens and took a knife there. Then, I went to the tower.”

“The door was open.”

“Yes. I went up to- here. I had been here when my father was hand of the King, but never again. I think I was half hoping that thing was still here. That I would find Ice. But I didn’t have the time to truly get in that the man revealed himself.”

Heat grazed her cheeks and she felt strangled, choked. Were these rooms always so small?

She felt a hand, warm,  _ warm _ under her chin. She looked up to Lord Tywin. She hadn’t even heard him move. He didn’t say anything, she kept his hand under her chin the same way he had done  _ that day _ , grounding her to the reality, where his gaze all encompassing never left her face. There was nothing soft in the way he touched her, nothing lustful, nothing pitying, and she was glad of it. He waited, in silence for her to continue. 

“He said he would have his fun with me. I don’t remember the exact words.” She did, gods she did but she couldn’t get herself for them to pass her lips. “I told him to stop, and he pushed me to the ground. My knife was hidden by the cloak, I think. So I-” she took a deep breath, and concentrated on the warmth, the two centimeters of her skin that felt somehow safe. “I waited. I waited for him to look elsewhere, to be close enough.”

“Then?”

Sansa rose her eyes, unflinching. For some reason, she felt stronger. “Then I cut his throat until he didn’t move anymore.”

He nodded, and there was something of approval on his face. He took back his hand, and Sansa felt immediately destabilised by it. 

“And then you found me.”

“And then I found you.” He said impassible. “And how do I know, Lady Sansa, that you didn’t come here to spy on the realm?”

She sputtered “My- my Lord, I’m just a stupid girl-”

“I think we both know the truth of that. Now, didn’t you send information to your brother?”

“My brother is a traitor”, she answered automatically, “as was my father. I am loyal to King Joffrey-”

Tywin rose a hand, and she immediately shut up. “I have no use of these… chirpings,  _ girl. _ ” For the first time since she had come here, he looked angry, and it made her want to bolt out of the room. “The truth, now.”

“Even if I wanted to take the risk to contact my brother, I wouldn't know how to do it, my Lord.”

Lord Tywin stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

“You’re wearing a scarf.”

She blushed and looked down. Of course, this would turn into an humiliation. 

“I didn’t like how men were looking at my bruises.”

She tilted her head unconsciously under his gaze. They both knew it wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t the full truth. 

“And you didn’t try to change your gowns?”

“I wasn’t given new gowns since my father’s death, My Lord.”

“I see. You can go, Lady Sansa. This problem will be solved in a short time.”

Sansa nodded gratefully. “Thank you, my Lord.”

He already had taken back his quill, and the sound of it scratching paper was the only sound in the room as she left. 


	3. Armors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so happy this sery recieved so many good reviews, and I want to particularily thanks al the people that proposed themselves as betas! I wouldn't have managed to get this chapter out without you.   
> I hope all of you will enjoy this chapter!

SANSA

 

Sansa was sitting on the pier, Shae next to her. She had taken to look at the sea more and more these days. Maybe it was something of a longing. Wishful thinking. It was there that many men had burnt, drowned, died. There was no trace of them now.

She wondered if there would be a trace of Sansa Stark, in the end. Probably not. 

“Dorne. It’s going to Dorne.” she stated. 

“Why Dorne?”

In the distance, boats with golden sails were slowly sailing through the Blackwater. It was truly beautiful, calming. She wished she could be one of these boats, alone in the middle of the sea. 

“It’s carrying silk and it’s supposed to bring wine in exchange. But it’s not going back.” Sansa threw a look at the guard that was standing a few feet from them. She was still caged. “The captain’s tired of risking his life so King’s landing lords and ladies could get drunk on better wine than they deserve. He’s going to stay in Dorne. Where it’s not winter and it’s beautiful and warm.”

“I met some people in Dorne who weren’t beautiful and warm.”

Sansa tsked. “You’re ruining the game.” she said. 

“I told you I don’t know how to play.”

Sansa ignored her. She needed a distraction from everything. “And that one?”

“That one is going to Volantis”

“Why?”

“Because when I got on a ship for Volantis it looked like that one.”

Sansa tilted her head. So her handmaiden had been to Volantis. She almost asked her about her travels, but thought better of it. 

“That’s not the game. You’re not supposed to say the truth, you’re supposed to invent a story.”

“Why would I tell a story when I know the truth?” 

“Because the truth is either terrible or boring.” she said maybe a little more cooly than she intended. 

“Pretty day for it! Watching the ships.” Lord Baelish was walking towards them, a little smile on his face. He stopped in front of her and looked at her, and for a moment she saw something in his eyes she didn't like at all. 

She hid her shiver. 

“My Lord.”

“Might I speak with Lady Sansa alone for a moment?”

Sansa nodded at Shae, who walked a few feet away. She stood to step next to Lord Baelish, refusing to sit while he stood tall. 

“I saw your mother not long ago."

"My mother is a traitor." 

He ignored her. "She really needs to see you. And your sister.”

She almost blurted a question about her sister. She twisted her hands inside her sleeves.

“You said you’d take me home.”

“You said King’s Landing was your home." he ironised . She felt her face go entirely blank and the smug smile disappeared from his face."You’re the property of the crown." he explained uneasily. “Stealing you would be treason and if you tell just one.”

Property. That's what they thought of her, then. A thing. And when she looked at Baelish, she had the terrible foreboding that he didn't think her as anything more than that. 

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“How do I know?”  he shot back. 

“Because I’m a terrible liar, you said so yourself. Please Lord Baelish, tell me how, tell me where.”

“I’m waiting for an assignment to take me away from the capital. When I set sail, I might be able to take you with me, but you need to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

She nodded and after a few more polite comments, Lord Baelish took his leave. 

She noticed he hadn't said  _ where  _ he would take her. 

 

Joffrey had insisted that she would be present during the grievances. It always ended up in blood, for Joffrey liked to see the smallfolk suffer so, and he likes to see her wince at every sentence. 

But this time, she did not wince. 

Inside herself, she felt disgusted. Disgusted by the gore, by the mindless cruelty. By the idea that this insane mind was focused on her own suffering. 

At the end of it, she felt something dangerous at the pit of her stomach. So she did something she had never done before, not since the king had forced her. 

She didn’t know why her steps had taken her there. Her heart was hammering in her chest, yet she felt oddly calm, oddly light, when she looked at her father’s severed head. She had to do this, to do this on her own terms. It was horrible. Horrible to see. Horrible to recognise in the twist of the rotting flesh the kind features of her father. 

It hit her in the face, then, that the man her father had been would be forgotten in the next twenty years. Because she had been stupid enough to trust Cersei, because she had been stupid enough to believe in pretty lies and stories. 

She refused to lower her gaze. 

_ Your brother is a killer, your father was a killer- _

She refused to acknowledge the pain, the nausea inside her. Because Joffrey might one day present her with her brother’s head, and on that day, she’ll have to smile and rejoice even if she wanted to die, even if she wished she could summon a dragon and burn the Red Keep to the ground. To survive. 

She ignored the little voice inside her that said that it was because one day Robb would give her Joffrey’s head, and that this day she would like to look at her tormentor in his dull eyes, to see for herself that he was dead, dead and buried. 

Finally, when she felt she had proven to herself this something that was still screaming inside her belly, Sansa went back inside the Keep. 

She felt, or smelled, him arrive before she saw him.

“Lord Varys.”

“Ah Lady Sansa, please, I am no Lord.”

Sansa cocked her head and offered a polite smile. “You are part of the small council, it is only normal to address you with respect, is it not?”

The eunuch bowed slightly with a pleased smile. “You flatter me, Lady Sansa. I was saddened to hear about your incident.”

“I am sure that my wounds were much less severe than the ones of many poor soldiers on this very bay.”

Lord Varys inclined his head in agreement. “Even then, I know for a fact that some wounds of the body leave the deepest scars in the mind. But your thoughts for our lowly soldiers are commending.”

Sansa looked at Varys, truely, then. She didn’t trust him, of course, but so far he had never tried to hurt her in any way. Not even a bad word, nothing. Of course, he hadn’t helped her either, but once again, no one had. He had a far away look on his face, one that could rarely be seen on the people living in the capital, yet, Sansa couldn’t read anything on him. 

For the first time she wondered who Lord Varys was. 

“I heard the strangest rumor, Lady Sansa.” he finally said, “I heard that someone had  _ dared to treat _ one of the Lannister’s sons in a lower way than what he deserves. Such a shame that these things happened these days. Luckily, you will be happy to learn that the problem was solved this very day.”

            Sansa felt a blush rise to her cheeks “My Lord-”

“Do not worry, Lady Sansa. It is very honorable for someone in such a position to help the people around them.”

Sansa frowned. "It is not about honor." she said, "none of it. It is not to  _ me _ ." 

Lord Varys put a dusted hand on her forearm and she didn't manage to refrain her wince. "All the better, my Lady. Shall you have need of help, I will always be here… somewhere." 

Before Sansa had the chance to answer, the eunuch swept away in a cloud of perfume. She watched him go before exchanging a look with Shae, whom she knew was watching from a few feet away. 

_ What a strange man. _

 

It had taken barely two days before new fabrics were delivered in Sansa’s chambers, but much longer for her to manage to do something with them. Sansa was surprised by the richness of the fabric and the quality of the seamstress the Lord Hand had sent. The servant had knocked, dressed in all red, left the package and went without another word. Not a few minutes later, the seamstress had barged in and they had all set to work. 

 

Joffrey seemed to have all but forgotten her, and Sansa had used her time in her room or in the gardens; in places she was sure she would meet no one that would be able to hurt her, or where she could easily escape. The King was busy with the Tyrells and the Tyrells were busy with the King, and despite Margaery’s growing weariness, this arrangement was all Sansa could have asked for. 

Sansa looked at her new grown, laid out on the bed in front of her. She was surprised at how closed off it looked. Sober. It wasn’t as long as the dresses she used to wear, shy of her ankles. She had chosen a purple and black fabric, afraid that any other color would turn into an involuntary declaration. She wanted it simple; she wanted to fade, at the opposite of Cersei’s gowns with her strong crimson and metallic gold. 

It was her power. Lack of it, really…

Her only power. What others would think of her, how others would react to her. She had seen how Cersei had started to dress with pitiful pieces of armor, how Margaery was wearing dresses each more revealing than the other. She quite understood the power play, and didn't like it one bit. She didn’t need to attract attention, she didn’t want for others  to desire her-  _ hit tear hurt _ . Quite the opposite.

 She had made this grown in fear. Fear was good, fear kept you alive. 

She straightened the shoulders not in such a different way than what Lady Margaery was wearing in her famous blue dresses. The bodice fitted her body tightly, rigidly but went up high on her neck and her sleeves to the middle of her palms. She clasped it with simple metallic pieces she had kept since her arrival. She cinctured her waist with the embroidered scarf Shae had given her earlier on, and asked the handmaiden to pull her hair back in a tight braid-so no one could grab her by her hair. 

She ignored her handmaiden worried look. 

It was good. It was comfortable, but mostly, she felt safer, covered from head to toe. 

She felt a little more in control. 

“Well, no one will tear  _ that _ apart, for sure.” said the woman, looking up and down at her. 

"Good." Sansa turned around and moved her arms to test the limits of the fabric "Lady Margaery invited me for a stroll through the gardens today.” she said with a sigh.

“Do you mislike the girl so?”

“Not much the girl herself than the man in her company, I’m afraid." 

Shae hummed in agreement. 

The gardens were full of life, as it was usual for such a bright day. Among the jade of the garden's leaves, Lady Margaery did look like the most resplendent flower. 

“Sansa! I’m so happy to see you!” Margaery wrapped herself around Sansa in a way she seemed to adopt with everyone around her. Sansa smiled at her. Margaery truly was incredibly beautiful and charismatic. In her soft blue grown, she looked like a creature from the songs. Once upon a time, Sansa might have envied her. 

Sansa hoped she was not such a soft woman. For her sake, and the sake of everyone around her.

Margaery smiled and talked nonsense to which Sansa answered as politely as she could, staring in front of her not to stare at the girl,  _ Gods she was beautiful,  _ as she was led to the patio that had quickly become Lady Olenna’s lair. The old woman was sitting her back to the sea, unmistakable even from the other side of the alley. 

“Lady Sansa, child, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“You are too kind, Lady Olenna. I thank you for your invitation.”

“Sit! Sit. Is this a new grown?”

“Ah, yes. I made it myself.”

“You got quite a talent!”

“Thank you, Lady Margaery. I must say your own gowns have created quite some awe in Kings Landing. Are they from Highgarden?”

“Why yes. I must confess that things there are much more permissive than they are here.”

“Of course they are.” interrupted Lady Olenna, “It is not in our way to let a few fanatics of the Seven dictate our ways. It is quite a beautiful place, Highgarden.”

“I am sure it is.” answered Sansa. 

The two women looked at her for a beat, and Sansa was more than aware that there was nothing showing on her face. She was becoming wary of this conversation, and she was wary of the fact that her previous little talk with the two women had had no consequences. She wondered if they were waiting in order to have her own words hovering above her head. 

“We left Lord Willas, there. My brother, a charming young man…”

Sansa smiled tightly. She didn’t care much about this Willas, but did it mean that she might find a way to get out of here?

At what cost?

“Ah! Lady Margaery, I was looking for you.”

Sansa immediately tensed. A week. She managed a week without getting caught in any fashion possible. “What are you doing in such company, my Lady? I’m sure you have better things to do than to talk with the traitor’s daughter.” he sneered, placing a kiss above Margaery’s knuckles. “I must say you are resplendissant today, my Lady.”

“You are too kind, my Lord. I confess I find you particularly handsome, today.”

 The King smiled smugly, but Sansa was barely listening. She could hear the noise of the white cloaks in her back, the clicking of their blades against their armors. 

She wanted to bolt, but she didn’t dare move. 

“What do you think, Lady Sansa?” said the King, “Isn’t Lady Margaery beautiful?”

“She is truly a pearl for your reign your Grace, and I couldn't hope any more beautiful Queen at your side.” she said mechanically, lowering her gaze. 

“That she is, Lady Sansa. Ser Trant, why don’t you accompany Lady Sansa back to her quarters. Surely,the sister of a rebel lord shouldn’t be enjoying the Crown’s gardens.”

“Of course, your Grace, it was stupid of me to come here. You are most wise.”

Sansa let herself be led by Ser Trant, knowing full well what would happen. And indeed, as soon as they were out of sight, the man made her trip down. 

The blow that came was enough to cut her breath. “Did you think we would leave alone?” hissed the man, but Sasa could barely hear him above the blood pounding in her ears.

 

TYWIN

 

Lord Tywin could almost hear his son’s discontent as he wrote his letter the the Riverlands. It was standard strategy. To make them wait, to make them squirm. 

Finally, Tyrion said something about how the Hand’s badge suited him and Tywin signed his letter. He looked up and pinned his son with a glare.

“You brought a whore in my bed.” He spat.

“It wasn’t your bed at the time.” Answered his son with irony. 

Tywin glared some more until the Imp looked down. He reached for the wax and poured it down on the letter. 

“I sent you here to advise the king.” he said as he placed the Hand seal on the wax, “I gave you true power and authority. And yet! You chose to spend your days bedding harlots and drinking with thieves. On the one night of the battle, our most valuable hostage’s life was threatened four times. I dare not think about your gestion of  _ the other days. _ ” He paused to let the shame sink in. “What do you want, Tyrion?”

“Can’t I simply visit my beloved father? My beloved father who, somehow, forgot to visit his wounded son after he fell on the battlefield?”

“Grand Maester Pycelle assured me that your wounds were not fatal.”

“I organised the defence of the city while you held court in the ruins of Harrenhal.” Tyrion blurted, “I led the soldiers while your grandson clung to his mother’s skirts in Maegor’s Holdfast. I  _ bled _ in the mud for  _ our family _ . And as my reward, I was trundled off to some dark room where I have stayed until someone was kind enough to get me proper rooms. And you ask me what I want? I want my inheritance.”

“You are a Lannister. Do you think I demand a garland of roses and a barrel of wine every time I have been wounded on the battlefield?” Tywin cut. “Tell me, what is it you want?”

“I want what is mine by right. I am your son and rightful heir.”

His son. 

Tywin rose from his seat and put his hands palm down on his desk. Grounding. His son. As if the deformed little Imp in front of him was his son. Tywin couldn’t speak of it. he couldn’t bear to speak of it, and fury was quickly boiling at the pit of his stomach. He glared at his  _ son _ with all the ice of the North. 

“Better accommodations will be made for you,” he drawled, “as a reward for your accomplishments. You will be given a position in the Small Council when the time is right that is specific to your talents.”

A servant entered the solar. He was red with the effort, and panted heavily. “My Lord, the Stark Girl, in the King’s gardens.” 

In four long strides, Tywin was at the door. His orders barked, followed in the second. 

He turned to see Tyrion still next to his desk. “You’re still here.” he stated. 

“I am.”

His son apparently intended to ignore his dismissal, and he didn’t have the time to blow the point across. Lady Sansa was carried into the room by Ser Jerion, captain of the Red Cloaks. Ser Jerion put the girl down in a chair.

“You are hurt.” stated Tywin. She looked up at him and looked down almost immediately and his annoyance started to show its ugly head again. “Jerion, report.”

“Lady Sansa was found in the Kings Gardens being beaten by Ser Trant from the kingsguard. As per your command, we stopped it and took the Lady to your solar.”

Tywin nodded silently. “Lady Sansa. You will now reside in the Tower of the Hand, in the chambers you already visited. A maester and a handmaiden will wait for you there, and your possessions will be brought here before the end of the day. I trust you will be worthy of the honor such protection is. Do you understand?”

“Yes, My lord.”

“Very well, you may go. I trust you can find the way to your new rooms alone.”

Her eyes looked up, and he saw a flash of pained surprise, before she lowered them again. She fidgeted the hem of her sleeve - a horrid habit. 

“My back is injured-”

“You can still walk. You’re strong enough.”

She winced, and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t understand. But then, she straightened her back, smoothed the fabric of her skirts with her hand, and held his gaze, if a bit shakily. “My Lord.” she said with a nod, and went, limping to her new chambers, Tyrion toddling behind her. 

 

SANSA

 

Sansa stilled herself from the pain and walked as gracefully as she could out of the Hand’s solar. She knew she didn’t manage to completely school her features not to show pain, but every effort she put into it made her feel better. Not about what had happened, but about what it meant for her. 

Lord Tyrion was looking at her like she was made of glass and she hated it. 

“My lady, can I--”

“I’m not  _ weak _ .” she growled. She paled, and turned toward the Imp. “Forgive me, my Lord, this was uncouth of me. I shall walk to my rooms as Lord Lannister ordered. I am forever thankful for having the chance of his protection. Please, excuse me my Lord.”

Lord Tyrion looked at her strangely, with his mismatched eyes, but he let her go.

Sansa sat on what was her new bed. She felt tired. She felt like her back would never stop hurting. She allowed herself to gasp when she finally managed to sit on the bed. 

Shae barged in, all furious and fussing, followed by the maester. The man didn’t look at her with a sad face, he didn’t try to touch her like Pycelle might have done, not even where her gown had been torn, not even when he had to  _ examine _ her; he had felt what he had to and retreated immediately once it was done. 

She remained tense, but almost didn’t startle when he examined her.

She wondered what would happen, now that she was closer to the Lannisters than ever before.

              But Lord Tywin would not let harm happen to her, for now. He had his reasons, she was sure. Maybe it was because of her name, her title, maybe it was because of the image of his family her treatment would cause. She had done well to tell the Tyrells, despite the risk. They would never let anything happen to Margaery, and if what she had heard was true, they were the ones providing food to the city. 

Yes, she had done well. 


	4. Sleeves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people! I'm so, so sorry for how late this is. This chapter was in my folders, duly corrected by my beta for about a month and I just remembered to post it. Unfortunately, both my studies and my country's unrest will not let me have much time, so I expect the new chapters to come along in quite some time. I hope all of you will still enjoy this story, and whish you a food read!  
> I want to thank all of you for the comment I didn't have time to answer to: know that I read them all and appreciate the support with utmost gratitude.

SANSA

  
  


“I still don’t believe it.”

Sansa sighed. She knew that with everything that happened, she shouldn’t be surprised that Shae was mothering her but it was still a tiny bit annoying sometimes. 

“He didn’t ask anything. He said he just took interest because he loved my mother.”

“Men only want one thing from a pretty girl.”

Shae went immediately silent when she felt her mistress tense. “Believe me, I know.” Ground out Sansa. “But Littlefinger isn’t in love with me.”

“It isn’t love the thing he wants.”

Sansa sighed. “ I know. He can have every girl in this city. It’s part of his job, as I understand. He won’t touch me. He’s too old.”

“Men never think that way.”

Sansa closed her eyes. “True enough. But he won’t try anything, not now that I’m fostered in the Tower of the Hand. I don’t think so, anyway…” But even as she said it, the tenseness in her back didn’t want to go away. “I know he wants something. I don’t know  _ what  _  it is, and everything considering… I’m not sure that it’s something as simple as  _ me. _ ”

“He didn’t asked you to do anything.”

“Nay.”

“If he does, if he tries for you to give him anything, if he touches you, I want you to tell me.”

Sansa rose an eyebrow. “And what would you do?”

“I would make him stop.”

“Better than me?”

That made Shae stop her relentless fussing. “Two blades are always better than one.” She said finally, but Sansa put a hand on her shoulder. 

“No. He’s a lord. He’s  _ Lord _ Baelish, and you are a handmaiden. You won’t do  _ anything _ because doing something would mean your death.”

“Of course not-”

“Of course  _ yes _ . Do you think that under Joff’ rule you would be protected because you protected me? He’d probably send flowers to the man who attacked me and ask him to redo the scene so he could  _ watch _ .” She was being bitter, she knew. She could hear it in her own voice, but she was  _ scared _ . Even here, in the Tower of the Hand, she was scared. Joffrey was the king, and he was very fond to remind people that he could do whatever he wanted. 

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure a lot of people thought exactly the same thing before their heads ended up on the battlement.” Sansa didn’t bothered adding something else; she knew far too well the expression her handmaiden’s face. It somehow reminded her of Arya, stubborn and pouting. 

She almost smiled. 

  
  
  
  


TYRION

  
  


This room was definitely better than the ones he had been given during his convalescence. He should have known that Pycelle would make him pay at some point. 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Shae looked at him with that fucking little smirk and walked in front of him. “We have to talk.” She said, putting her hands on his chest until he was forced to sit on the edge of the bed. But he knew perfectly well what she was doing, and he put his hands on hers to stop her. “Shae my father does not make idle threats. Did anyone see you?”

“No.” She dismissed, and stepped back. She looked at him with a fierceness he was starting to get used to. “We have to talk about Sansa.”

“And what about her?”

“Littlefinger. I don’t trust him.”

“What child in which village would trust Littlefinger?”

His sarcasm didn’t seem to appease her, quite the contrary. “We have to protect her. I don’t trust Littlefinger, I don’t trust your father, I don’t trust  _ anyone of them. _ ” She hissed. 

“We can’t! Now my family has discarded her, and she is under the Hand’s protection. You don’t trust my father? Good, youre smart. That doesn’t mean that we can cross him.” He sighed as she glared darker at him, “She will probably marry soon. A great beauty, a very old name, a room two stairs away from Tywin Lannister.... We can’t do anything.”

“Great beauty?”

__ _ Fair skin, bright red hair, eyes sharpers than the wind at the top of the Wall- _

“Yes, she is. Objectively. Her face is… quite pleasing to men… and women… and people in general. Not to me, of course, I only have eyes for you.”

“You pervert! You want this child!”

“She’s not-- I don’t want to talk about her.”

“But you are!”

He sat dejectedly on the bed. He knew there was no getting out of this easily. 

“Because you are making me.”

“I didn’t forced you mouth open and made the words come out of it.”

“This is cruel and unfair. Cruelly unfair, it is.”

“Bouh, Shae’s so cruel to me...” she mocked, pushing him farther on the bed. 

She sounded so much like Cersei right now that he couldn’t help but wince. She seemed to feel it, even if she didn’t understand the source of his discomfort. She went to the best comfort she knew for him and unbuckled his belt. “There, am I cruel, now?”

“Only if you stop.” he answered. They both knew it was a lie. 

After, when they were tangled in the sheets, Shae got on her elbows and looked at him with more seriousness than she ever had. “She’s the one that saved you.” she said, “She’s the one that imagined the plan to get you out of the hole they had bury you in. You  _ owe _ her, Tyrion.”

“Why are you so insistent on it?”

Shae’s face pinched as it always did when she was hesitating upon a lie. Then, she put her hand on his cheek. “I love her.” she said in a whisper, “I was the one cleaning her wounds, I was the one drawing her baths, I was the one treating her bruises. She knew I was no handmaiden, yet she treated me with respect.”

Tyrion didn’t know what to answer to that. He respected the Stark girl, admired her, even, but there was more to that than what Shae’s was willing to tell. 

“Well, the Lannisters pay their debts, I guess.” he said.

Shae nodded. “And you should pay this one, Tyrion. If there is something Lady Sansa taught me, is that the North remembers. She cut a man’s throat, she can do it again.”

She didn’t let him answer and slipped out of the bed. 

He frowned.  _ If she cut a man’s throat she can do it again _ . That was something cold, a truth that should have passed by his father’s head sooner than Shae’s. 

 

SANSA

 

Sansa passed the day in her rooms, not doing anything special. Her hands were trembling far too much to sew, and Shae had went to other obligations. Now that she was in the Hand’s Tower, she didn’t know what to do. Did she have the right to go in the gardens to talk with Margaery? Surely, she couldn’t explore the tower itself; there were far too many chances for her to be accused of treason. 

She cursed once again whatever weakness made her hands shake so and stared at the window.  _ Useless, stupid girl. _

She didn’t dare go up to Lord Tywin’s solar to ask him what she was to do with herself. The man probably had many other things to do, and she was once again pretty sure she wouldn’t be welcomed do next his working place. Yet, she was pretty sure that he would be… displeased if he learned that she had been idle all day. 

Rest, had said the maester, but the pain and the fear made Sansa restless. She didn’t want to get out of the tower, yet she couldn’t quite stay still, looking at the window for days on end, could she?

She was about to call for a book when someone knocked on the door. She opened it with something of deep weariness growling inside her belly. 

"Lady Sansa." said the servant with a bow, "Lord Tywin wishes to speak to you in his solar." 

A spear of fear shot through her, yet she plastered a smile on her face. “Of course.” she said softly, “Lead the way.”

Lord Tywin was standing in the antechamber, almost leaning against one of the stone pillars. Two men were carrying a long wooden table at the center of the room, while others were  shuffling around, cleaning and taking chairs in. The carpet too had been changed. Maybe the bloodstain wouldn’t get off. But Tywin Lannister didn’t seem like a man who cared about blood on his carpet.

His eyes found hers. They were just like that night, cold and green, observing, assessing. Calculating. 

He tilted his head. She had been staring - idiot, stupid girl- and she immediately lowered her gaze, breaking into a perfect curtsy. "My Lord." she said as clearly as she could. 

"Lady Sansa." he answered, clasping his hands behind his back. "I trust that your lodgements are to your liking." He said cooly, clearly out of politeness.

"Yes my Lord. You are most generous." 

"Is that truly what you think?" he sneered.

She kept silent. She didn't know what she was supposed to answer. There was no answer, she knew. None that wouldn't make him punish her. None that didn't hurt. 

She had been stupid, as always, to think that she was remotely safe here.

The monster here was one she didn't know. She almost regretted Joffrey. 

"Answer me." 

"I am the daughter and the sister of traitors. I know I am lucky to still be alive. Your protection is most generous." She said and she surprised herself at the coolness of her voice. At the anger, sipping through the fear inside her.

Lord Tywin didn't answer. He nodded to her to follow him back at his desk. He looked pointedly at her. 

She didn't try to sit.

" I will give you the rules, Lady Sansa. You are not a traitor. If you were, you would be dead." She didn't even blink and stared at a point behind his right ear. "You are a lady under the protection of Tywin Lannister." He stated as if it was the most natural thing. An evidence. 

As if it answered everything. 

She nodded silently. “You will not go out of this tower without me. For now. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I will take you with me- when your presence will not hinder my duty - if I have errands outside of this tower. I expect you to follow me like a shadow. You will eat here, with me, except on the days where I have to go on family dinners.”

 “Yes my Lord.”

“Can you say something else than “yes my Lord”?”

“What else am I allowed to say, my Lord?”

She thought he would be furious by her outburst, but if anything he looked satisfied. Somewhat. “I have no use for chirping.” he finally said cooly, but the edge in his voice was gone.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Go, now.”

 

Sansa passed the rest of the day in her quarters, arranging things as she pleased. To say the truth, she didn’t have much possession left. Her mother’s jewels had been taken, she only had a few gowns… She had Sandor’s cloak, Dontos hairnet, a faded rose Margaery had gifted her during one of their walks in the gardens.

She preferred it like that. If she had nothing, they couldn’t take what she loved from her. Though the idea was strong, she blinked to catch back the tears in her eyes. She had to be strong. It had to be like this. 

A servant came to find her for supper. She arranged her hair in a simple but strict style - Northern. She didn’t have the time nor the will to make something more complicated.

Lord Tywin was already seated at a long table that reminded her strongly of his desk, except that it wasn’t full of papers and quills. He didn’t address her but motioned to her to sit at his right. She did so with as much grace as she could muster. 

The room's windows were open to the evening's wind. The air was strangely heavy and warm, yet a cool breeze made the light curtains fly softly over the floor. 

He threw her an appraising look but didn’t say anything, only calling for food.  It arrived quickly, the servants keeping their eyes low and their movements smooth. 

Sansa looked at her plate. For a second, she wondered if she could stab Lord Tywin with the little knife near it. He was at war against her brother, after all. If he died, surely Robb would win it and come to get her soon enough. 

Yet, she couldn’t. Lord Tywin had protected her, given her guests rights in his tower. She couldn’t even  _ think _ of it. What if he read something on her face? Lord Baelish had said that she was a terrible liar, and if she thought she could do quite well indeed, she would be dead already if she wasn’t, something told her that Lord Tywin wasn’t part of the people she could fool. 

In the end, even if it made her feel terrible, she was  _ grateful _ . 

They ate in silence. Sansa was quite uneased, always waiting for a comment, a mockery of sorts. But nothing came. 

Suddenly , there was a flash, and an explosion. Sansa jumped out of her chair, her body tense like the edge of a blade. She looked at Tywin, who hadn’t move and was staring at her in a most peculiar way. 

“Are we under attack?” she whispered frantically. No one was moving - there must be a reason for it. 

“Lady Sansa, this is a thunderstorm.” 

She threw him a look, trying to read deception in his stony face, but there was none. She flushed abruptly and fought to take control back on herself. “I apologise, my Lord. You must think me foolish… There is no such thing as thunderstorms in the North.”

Lord Tywin looked at her up and down and she almost instinctively straightened her spine. Her gave her a polite nod, but made no move to comfort or mock her. She sat back on her chair. She knew the servants would go spread the word around, and tomorrow someone would mock her, use this new weakness against her. 

What kind of place had explosions in the sky? 

The rest of the dinner went in silence, and Sansa returned to her rooms, trying not to jump at each thunder strike. 

Than night, when she dreamt, she was with her pack, running in the rain. They hunted a deer and the blood was warm against her fangs. 

 

TYWIN

 

The whore entered his solar with her head low and her hands clasped in front of her. How anyone could take her for a handmaiden, he didn’t know. Everything in her body, from the way she walked to the way she dressed screamed that the woman was a prostitute. 

The fact in itself wouldn’t have bothered him if the girl wasn’t his  _ son _ ’s whore. If Tyrion hadn’t placed his mistress as Lady Sansa handmaiden, if he hadn’t soiled Tywin’s bed with her. 

_ Weakness _ . 

The girl was an open wound in his son’s side, and thus an open wound in  _ his _ . 

But there was something else to take in account: the girl hadn’t been swayed yet. Not by his daughter’s promises or threats, she had stayed as true as her northern’ mistress, and he saw strength in that. An opportunity, maybe. Later. 

“M’lord.” the handmaiden said with an uneasy curtsy.

“You are Lady Sansa’s handmaiden.” he said. 

“Yes m’lord.”

“What can you tell me about you mistress?”

“Nothing you don’t already know, m’lord.” 

He tilted his head, his eyes flashing, and he could see the girl shivering. Yet, she did not move back nor gave an inch. She was the type of girl that had seen it all, and survived, and  _ lived _ . One of those whores that you could pay to murder a man in his bed, one of these that could as well murder  _ you _ if you didn’t pay right.

He wondered if he cut the funds, he would be lacking a son. The Imp seemed to always ignore his teachings, after all. 

“Very well.” He turned towards his desk without turning his back to her -  _ never his back _ \- and took a scroll he had prepared in advance. “Did you know Lady Sansa has refused any handmaidens except you?”

The girl nodded. “She trusts you.” He said, and almost sneered at the idiocy of trusting a  _ whore _ .

She looked at him peculiarly, her head tilted in a way Lady Sansa would have - yes, these passed a lot of time together indeed. “She does not trust anyone, m’lord. But she  _ knows _ me.”

__ _ She doesn’t trust anyone _ . 

_ Empty-headed little dove... _

_ She doesn’t trust anyone. _

Smart. If the handmaiden didn’t know how much informations her uneasy words gave him, it was all for the better. 

“You will now be exclusively at her service. That means, you stay with her  _ always _ . No going about to whatever task in the castle except on Lady Sansa’s direct orders. If there is danger, you come report to  _ me. _ ”

The Handmaiden nodded and he dismissed her. 

 

SANSA

 

It had been a few days since her first dinner with Lord Tywin, and only a night since he had summoned her handmaiden in his solar. She had reported everything to her, of course, as Sansa and obviously Lord Tywin knew she would. It had Sansa worried, and Tyrion too she had heard. The Imp had been only a step away from putting Shae on a boat and sending her as far way from his father as he could. Sansa hadn’t understood such reaction, but something in the way Shae had told it made her think that there was more to it than she knew. 

She put the information on the side of her mind for later use. 

But more importantly, Lord Tywin has asked for any threat to be reported to him. Which meant that he thought there would be threats -- and if someone like Lord Tywin thought such thing, there would be -- and that he intended to deal with these matters internally. To go  _ around _ the King. 

It was a relieving and frightening thing. She would not have to beg for her life, naked in the throne room and with a crossbow aimed at her  if things went south. But, and it was a but the size of the Wall, she would have to face Lord Tywin Lannister, one of the most terrible men alive. 

_ Well _ . 

Said man had yet to hurt her directly. He was able to do it, she knew, but he never… Others would have taken advantage of the situation. 

Ans Sansa couldn’t help but wonder  _ how _ Lord Tywin was taking advantage of the situation. A Lannister wouldn’t protect a member of his enemies’ family if he didn’t have a very good reason. She couldn’t afford to let a few moments of kindness guile her into thinking he was harmless.  _ Not much chance for that, though.  _ The very way the man stood, walked or even looked at her reminded her of how much of a threat he could be, to her, or to others. 

_ Everyone is a liar here, Sansa, and everyone is a better one than you _ . 

She wasn’t sure if it was true- she sure hoped Baelish thought so. As long as she couldn’t lie, she wasn’t a threat to the powerful people of the capital. 

The dinners with Lord Tywin were silent, and somewhat tense, but she preferred them by a long shot to the ones she had had the  _ pleasure _ to share with his family. Lord Tywin didn’t seem to mind the silence anyhow. She found something almost comforting in his silence presence, something that reminded her of the Hound. 

She opened the door of her room, sliding in with Shae behind her. 

On the table near the window was a package. 

Sansa and Shae frowned. They had approached the offending package as if it was a wild animal, and opened it  with suspicion. 

It was a book. 

_ Weathers of Westeros _ . 

Sansa paled, blushed, and was suddenly taken by the urge to swear in a way the was certainly not befitting for a lady. 

That evening, at dinner, Sansa curtsied politely. “I thank you, my Lord, for your kind gift.” She said, “it was a very interesting reading.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have finished it?”

“Yes My Lord.” She sat as he motioned her, “I have little to do and the book was most interesting. I’ve always enjoyed reading.”

“You certainly read much faster than my son.”

Sansa was about to point out that Lord Tyrion was probably one of the most read man in the realm, before thinking better of it. “My son” was singular, and she knew of the relationship between Lord Tywin and his children enough to know that it wasn’t Tyrion he was referring to. 

“I used to-” she stopped herself. This was a bad idea. 

Lord Tywin looked at her for a long moment, like he was studying something interesting. “I won’t punish you for talking about Winterfell.” He said finally. 

It was strange how his tone reminded her of the one he had used in the throne room, when Stannis men had tried to attack Joffrey. What had he said?  _ No further insult will be tolerated _ , or something like that. Not a warning, just a decision. It was, and there was nothing to do for it. 

She nodded as if she accepted it as such. 

“I used to teach my little brothers how to read. My father taught me and Arya, but I was the one taking care of Rickon and Bran.”

There was a flicker of something that passed in Tywin’s eyes, but it was soon gone. He nodded at her. 

“I trust that with the book you will not be afraid of storms anymore.”

“No as long as I am safe in a castle, my Lord.”

He seemed slightly amused by her quip, and she almost felt proud at the display of emotion that was a small twinkle in his eyes. The rest of the evening went quite smoothly, if silently. She was actually relieved by that silence. When she didn’t talk, she couldn’t make a misstep that could mean her death or the one of someone she loved. 

Well, the number of people she loved melted by the day anyway. Yet, there was something bothering her at the back of her skull. Like a weight. Her neck became still, her temple throbbing. It actually started to hurt after a while and she put her hand on the side of her face. 

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?”

“Y-yes. I apologize My Lord. I must be tired.”

Tywin tsked and the sound seemed to echoed  _ inside _ her skull. He didn’t bother to ask her anything else, just rose and left the room. 


End file.
